


Kindled

by muchmorethanaprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmorethanaprincess/pseuds/muchmorethanaprincess
Summary: BFF fill for the prompt: Hi could you do a fic where clarke and bellamy sneak out at night all the time whether it’s to make out, fuck or just talk about things they can’t say in daylight. Until one night someone follows them and then bellarke are faced with the question they’d been avoiding. What were they?Basically an au wherein season one and season two are exactly the same except Bellamy and Clarke are sleeping together on the sly.





	

The first time it happens, Clarke is stressed, and Bellamy is being pushy, and they’re up later than everyone trying to come up with a solution to their latest problem. Their talk by the tree helped the animosity between them—they trust each other now, she doesn’t doubt that at all. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t still the absolute best at driving each other to their last nerves. She’s stalking away from him, huffing in frustration, when he grabs her wrist and says, “Hey, we need to figure this out, you don't get to just storm off because you're pissed at me. This is bigger than that.”

She can barely process his words thanks to the obscene thoughts flickering through her head. She doesn't _mean_ to let her mind go there, but his large hand on her arm feels like it’s burning through her nerves, and she’s been sexually and emotionally frustrated since her mistake with Finn, and she’s so tired of _thinking_ , she wants to do just one thing that she doesn't have to worry about from a dozen different angles to figure out how it’ll be a disaster.

In the end, Bellamy knows what’s crossed her mind because her gaze drags from his hand, up his muscular arms, lingers on his chest, and then rests, for a second too long, on his lips. When she meets his eyes, he’s smirking, and she’s trying not to let her embarrassment show. Bellamy’s too perceptive for that, though.

“Something you want, princess?” he asks, his voice quiet and rough, an eyebrow quirking teasingly as his thumb brushes over her skin. It makes her think of those first few days, of his hand tugging his shirt off his hip so she could see the gun nestled there, of the foolish words he had been responding to. _I’m here for you,_ she’d said. She can feel an entirely new meaning to that now.

She swallows, and he notices. He takes a step, and she backs away until she’s pressed against the wall of the dropship. She feels a bit like a mouse cornered by a cat, her heart roaring in her ears, but she also really wants to get caught.

She’s heard the girls murmuring around camp, and if they’re not exaggerating Bellamy’s talents, then… why shouldn't she let her ridiculously hot co-leader take her to bed, if she’s actually going to get what she wants out of it?

She juts her chin up, meeting his eyes defiantly.

“Decided what you want?” he asks. His voice makes her bones tremble in anticipation.

She reaches for his hips, grabs his belt loops and pulls him into her. His hands brace against the dropship wall on either side of her head.

“Stress relief?” she whispers.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

And then he’s kissing her neck, and gripping her thighs to lift her against the wall so he can grind into her, and Clarke almost can’t catch her breath for how good it is. Her fingers scramble at his shoulders until she manages to get his shirt off. She runs her hands over his smooth, brown skin, enjoying the flex of his muscles under them.

Clarke gasps quietly when his hand unbuttons her pants and slides beneath her underwear, finding her throbbing and wet. He laughs softly, and he’s about to say something, she can tell, but all she wants is for their idiotic fighting to not get in the way of his fingers, which feel completely sinful, so she grabs his face and drags him into a kiss before he can speak.

She moans and whimpers into his mouth, and Bellamy is _really_ good at this. Really good at finding just the right circle of his fingers, just the right pressure from his thigh underneath holding her up, just the right speed to wind her up before tipping her over the edge.

She fists her hands in his hair and tugs as she bites down on his shoulder, her orgasm quicker than she’d like but so, so good, and Bellamy keeps his fingers sliding gently over her clit until she tips her head back against the dropship wall, breathing hard. He releases the leg he’s still holding and meets her eyes.

“Anything else you want?”

She gulps. She could leave it at this, walk away right now and pretend it never happened. But it _did_ happen, and she wants _more_ , and she wants it to happen again.

“Bed,” she says, before she can overthink it. She wants herself and Bellamy in a bed, to continue what they started.

His eyebrows raise for just a second, before he can pretend he was expecting that. It delights her that she was able to _surprise_ him. But then he reaches to the ground for his shirt, grabs her hand and pulls her along in the dark behind him.

They get tangled when they make it into his tent, because she’s going for his pants and he’s trying to get her shirt off. Clarke huffs in frustration when Bellamy finally grabs her wrists and pins them together behind her back. It presses their chests together distractingly.

He peers down at her. “I’m gonna take care of you, Clarke,” he says, amused. But his voice is rough—it’s an insinuation, not comfort.

“I just—I don’t want to _think_ ,” she manages to spit out.

“Ah, hot, mindless sex.” He smirks. “I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

Then he pushes her onto the bed, strips off his pants, and Clarke _does_ stop thinking about anything besides his warm, perfect body, and it’s exactly what she needs.

 

It happens again a few days later, because Clarke can feel Bellamy’s eyes on her from across the camp, like an itch she can’t reach. She doesn’t want to be the one to make it happen again—if Bellamy wants more of her, he has to ask. So she walks back to her tent, slowly, deliberately, making sure he sees her but not making eye contact.

He walks through the parted fabric a minute later.

“Something you want, Bellamy?” she asks, tossing his words from the other night back at him.

He stalks toward her, pushing her back on the makeshift bed and crawling over her. “Don't be coy, Clarke. I saw you shaking your ass at me from across camp. If you wanted more, all you have to do is ask.”

“You're the one who came running, Blake,” she huffs, already breathing hard just from having him this close again. “So either fuck me or get out.”

He laughs softly. “You're a bossy, demanding asshole, you know that?”

“So are you. That's why this is so good.” Then she leans up to catch his mouth with her own, and words become superfluous to the rough way they’re grabbing at each other. The tension and arguments between them from running the camp only intensify the flames licking up their bodies at the contact. Everything feels hot and rushed and delicious, and Clarke barely has the space in her mind to think about how glad she is that the other night wasn’t just a one time deal. This is too good to only have once.

She’s working the button on the top of his pants, and manages to get them down to his thighs before he takes over to get them off, tugs off his shirt, then strips her bare. She tries to pull him on top of her, but he evades her grasp, moving down her body instead, biting at the soft flesh of her stomach and hips until he draws a quiet groan from her.

She wasn’t expecting this, but she’s certainly not complaining when his mouth finds her clit and two of his fingers push into her cunt. He laughs, and the feeling—the pulse of it against her clit, his hot breath fanning the inside of her thighs—has her hips jolting. “So wet already, princess?” he murmurs, smug, barely lifting his mouth from her. “This all for me?”

She just mutters, “asshole,” and grabs his hair, pushing him back against her with a rock of her hips. Bellamy doesn’t need more instruction.

The enthusiastic strokes of his tongue, the perfect press of his fingers inside her, the way he pauses to suck on her clit, and the fact that she’s been worked up for days thinking about their last encounter have Clarke close to coming much sooner than she usually would. Bellamy can feel it when her heels press desperately into the makeshift mattress, when her hand grips his hair harder without her seeming to realize it, but she’s too goddamn _quiet_. He glances up and realizes why.

She’s got one hand shoved against her mouth, hiding half her extremely pleasured expression and holding back her moans.

“Stop that,” he says, reaching up to swat at her arm. She uncovers her mouth but shakes her head.

“If you want to hear me louder than this, you better find somewhere we’re not surrounded by a hundred teenagers and separated by only a thin piece of fabric. Until then, you’re out of luck.”

Her words have already got an idea about _next time_ running through his head, but the handmade pillow that Clarke’s waves are spilling over is distracting enough for _now_. He lets go of where he’s holding her thighs and rises over her body, a predatory gleam in his eye. Clarke raises an eyebrow in response.

He grabs her hips, flipping her over before she can blink, and grips the hair at the nape of her neck, pushing her face into the pillow, tilted just enough so she can breathe without struggle. He’s worried for a split second that he might have been too rough, not giving her proper warning, but then her hips lift off the mattress, her ass swaying enticingly toward him, and he’s done for.

He leans over her, his hand still in her hair while the other seizes her hip, and rasps, “Moan for me, princess,” against her ear as he slides into her cunt in one strong stroke.

She does moan, as loud as she dares with the pillow muffling it, as Bellamy thrusts into her again and again, until she’s out of breath.

“Oh god, Bellamy,” she whines, when he bites at her neck and shoulder, and it only makes him thrust harder.

“Do you like that?” he murmurs. She whimpers affirmatively in response. “You like when I mark you? When I call you that?” He pauses, and she knows just what he’s doing, but when he whispers, “princess,” into her ear, she can’t help the way she clenches around him. He feels it, groans into her hair. “Tell me you like it, Clarke.”

“Yes,” she groans. “Yes, just please don’t stop.”

“You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, his thrusts not letting up for a moment. She puts her hand over his holding her hip, and moves it lower, until his fingers reach her clit and he takes over. She pushes her face directly into the pillow and moans, her toes curling.

“You close, princess?”

She nods desperately, unable to speak, and Bellamy drives into her, stroking her clit until she comes with quiet, choked gasps that have him burying his face in her neck as he chases his own orgasm and soon follows her off the edge.

He groans in exhaustion after a moment, hardly enough to recover, and is surprised when he hears Clarke giggle, feels her back move gently with it beneath him. He rolls off of her onto his back and looks over. “What?”

She meets his gaze, still smiling. “Nothing, just. That was fun.” She shrugs softly, then moves a hand over his chest, trailing down his abdomen, running over the hard muscle there. “I don’t get to have much fun these days.”

‘Well,” he says, keeping his voice gruff and unaffected. “You can have as much fun with me as you want.”

Clarke smirks. “Good.” She glances around. “I’m gonna take a nap, if there’re no pressing camp needs for me right now. You can stay or go, whichever.” She’s the picture of casual, and Bellamy thinks she really means it.

He sits up, grabbing for his shirt. “I’ve gotta help with the wall. You should get dressed though, in case anyone gets injured and barges in here.”

She sighs, “true,” and sits up to do as he said.

He’s dressed and about to walk out of the tent when he turns back to her. “You know, I’m gonna take you up on that offer, to find somewhere without all the kids around so I can really hear you.”

She grins, and despite having just had a pretty earth-shattering orgasm, she feels something anticipatory curl inside her. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

When he hands her a pack, shoulders one himself, and tells her they’re going back to the aid shelter to check for more ammo, Clarke knows exactly what he’s doing, feels herself throb without any other prompting, and follows him in a way she should be embarrassed by, but she can’t bring herself to mind.

They make small talk on the way, which is nice. The sex has actually helped them work together better—they both have less stress and tension rolling around inside them, and they’ve seen the results of their… _mutual cooperation_ , albeit in a different setting. Their irritated snipping has turned into heated gazes and teasing comments, winding each other up for something much more pleasant than the bickering they’re used to.

Bellamy gestures Clarke down the ladder to the bunker first, then closes and locks the hatch on his way down. When his feet hit the floor, he turns to her, drops his own pack and nudges hers gently off her shoulders, then presses her against the wall.

He drops his head, brushing his nose down the side of her face, then nibbles at her ear, reveling in her sharp intake of breath.

“Don’t hold back on me, princess.”

She pulls her shirt off before he can do anything else, effectively distracting him. “Trust me, I won’t.”

 

Clarke doesn’t say anything about the girls Bellamy turns away from his tent now, night after night until they seem to get the message. They’re having sex, but it doesn’t mean anything more than that. It’s just really good sex, and Clarke feels gratified that it’s apparently all Bellamy needs at the moment.

They keep meeting, sneaking into each other’s tents in the middle of the night or wandering just far enough away from camp to get each other off, and they stay up talking sometimes too, venting their frustrations and troubleshooting problems together. It’s so easy and simple that Clarke can’t believe they ever hated each other.

They clarify, just once, that it’s nothing serious between them. They’re friends now, and this is fun and relaxing, but that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

Clarke distracts herself from her stomach sinking by climbing into his lap and riding him until she collapses.

 

When she wakes up in Mount Weather after the battle at the dropship, Bellamy is her first thought. _He’s dead_ , she thinks. _I pulled the lever, and he’s dead_. The fear only increases when she’s reunited with the other delinquents, and Bellamy isn’t there. But her hope increases too, because Mount Weather is decidedly sketchy, and maybe that means they’re lying about none of her people being left. Maybe Bellamy’s out there, looking for her the same way she’s searching for him.

 

When she gets out of Mount Weather, her first thought as she comes to in the medbay is that she needs to see Bellamy. _If he’s even here_ , she thinks, before she opens her eyes, and there he is.

Her sigh of relief is long and loud, and she swipes a tear off her cheek.

“Bellamy,” she calls, repeating his name until he rouses from where he was snoozing in a chair at the edge of the room. He jolts awake, looking at her, shocked for a moment, and then he pulls the chair right up to her and says, “Hey, look what the cat dragged in.”

She groans, trying not to laugh. “Update me,” she says, and he doesn’t need to be told twice, just launches into a complete overview of everything she missed and the state of the hundred.

When he’s done, she relays all the information she has on Mount Weather.

“We’ve got to get them out of there,” she says, sounding miserable.

“We will, Clarke. We will.”

 

She finds his room that night, just a tiny Ark apartment, but it has a real bed and Clarke nearly groans at the sight of it. They need to plan their escape from Camp Jaha so they can find Finn and Murphy the next day, but Clarke’s too tired to act like that’s what she’s really there for.

She clears her throat and crosses her arms when she leans against the doorframe, aware of the way the movement pushes up her breasts. It feels stupidly like relief when Bellamy’s gaze catches on them for a split second before he pulls away to meet her eyes.

“Need something?”

She walks directly to him, stands close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him.

“Just you,” she murmurs, and pushes him back to the bed.

He worries that she’s not well enough for the exertion, but she insists that she’s only scraped up, a little sore maybe, she admits, but stressed out of her mind and could he please help her with that?

After, they sit on Bellamy’s bed, half clothed and plotting their way out of camp, trying to figure out where Finn would be by now.

When Bellamy catches her in a quiet moment staring at his shoulders, which he has easily discovered are one of her favorite things about him, he quirks an eyebrow. “You need another round, princess?”

She lifts and drops one shoulder casually, but the nickname has her hot all over. “I could go again,” she says, her voice not betraying her want.

He climbs over her. “Whatever you say.”

 

She’s glad for it later, because there’s no chance for fooling around the next night, just Bellamy eyes on her burning hotter than the campfire as they forgive each other’s sins. “Had to be done,” Bellamy says about the dropship, and she stays quiet, lets herself agree with him because it’s easier. But would she still agree with him if that blast had left him dead? Or would the necessity of it have washed away with his life?

 

When they find Finn, and eighteen slaughtered grounders, Clarke is horrified, and angry, and frozen as he speaks to her. It doesn’t matter that her feelings for him were ruined the second she saw Raven, he was trying to find her, and if she’d never slept with him, maybe his feelings wouldn’t be this intense. Maybe he would’ve moved on to the next flirting girl, and these people would still be alive, and he wouldn’t be a murderer, and this wouldn’t be yet another problem for her to solve. She feels like she might vomit.

Bellamy wants to pummel Finn’s face in when he reaches them, and he’s suddenly glad for the other night too, the one good night he and Clarke had before this all went to hell, because he has a feeling he’s going to have to hold onto it for a while.

 

He holds onto it when he watches Clarke shove a knife into Finn’s stomach, when she cries into his shoulder afterward, raging about how fucking angry she is at Finn for doing this to her, for putting this on her.

He holds onto it when she tells him his life is worth the risk, hardening her gaze and sending him into the belly of hell. He knows it was his idea in the first place, but there’s something different, something stinging, about having her agree to it. He holds onto it when he enters Mount Weather, sick to his stomach, and knowing somehow that he won’t be getting anything like it again.

 

They make it out of Mount Weather after all, and he can’t quite believe it, keeps blinking to make sure he’s not dreaming, or hallucinating. Then again if he is, he’d maybe like to stay there. He knows there’s blood all over his hands, and Clarke and Monty’s hands too, but he’s just too goddamn tired to care yet.

He’ll think about it later. Now that everyone’s safe, there will be time for that. Now that everyone’s safe, there will actually _be_ a later. He tries not to think about the kind of later he’d like for him and Clarke. Any kind of hope for that is likely gone now. He tries to squash the little bit that remains in his chest, warming him when he looks at her.

But then she pulls him away from the procession of Arkers walking back to Camp Jaha, gets him up against a tree and gets her mouth on him, and Bellamy can’t stand how wrong it feels. It’s what he _wants_ , technically, but something about it makes his stomach turn. They’re both still in the clothes they were wearing in Mount Weather. He pulls away.

“Stop, Clarke, stop,” he says, a hand on her shoulder keeping her at bay.

“Why?” she looks hurt, and she already looks wrecked enough under that from everything else they’ve just been through.

“Not like this, not right now,” Bellamy says. He wants to say more, wants to comfort her, or _something_ , but he doesn’t have time before they hear clamoring footsteps approaching. They don’t pull away from each other fast enough, and Harper looks at them with knowing eyes.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “Sorry for interrupting!” She pauses, tilts her head. “What did I miss?” Bellamy and Clarke mumble excuses, but she just raises her eyebrows skeptically and turns away.

When the three of them make it back to the group and continue on, Bellamy grabs Clarke’s hand. She looks at him curiously, but he doesn’t meet her gaze, just twines his fingers through hers and holds on. He’s a little worried about what will happen if he lets go.

They reach the gate eventually, and stop. Bellamy feels edgy, but he doesn’t want to examine it.

“I could use a drink.”

Clarke looks up at him and reaches to brush a thumb over the dark smudges under his eyes. “And some sleep.”

He nods, swallows.

“Harper was right to ask, you know,” he says, his voice rough. “What are we to each other?”

Clarke doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, unable to find words.

“Was it just sex?” he asks. “I know that’s what we agreed on, you can say it was just sex if that’s all it was, that’s fine.”

“Of course it wasn’t just sex, Bellamy. I mean at first, of course. But not anymore, not for me.”

His head falls forward before he can stop it, his forehead nudging against hers as he breathes a sigh of relief. “Not for me, either.”

They stay there for a moment, Bellamy holding Clarke’s face, Clarke holding his waist.

“I don’t know how to deal with what we did, Bellamy,” she whispers. He knows she’s talking about decimating Mount Weather.

“Together,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.” She nods against him.

“Can we go get cleaned up now?” she asks.

They walk in the gate to their people together. They don’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> If you know me at all you know how much I value comments. Please tell me your thoughts!


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